Collection

Śarīra

At the age of four, I buried a little puppy that died prematurely with my own hands. Since then, death has only accumulated more and more. What is death? Is it those beautiful moments forever frozen, endlessly stacking up in the heart? One day, it will fill up until it covers me entirely.

I often dream of death in the form of a pile of bones – those are the most terrifying nightmares. That’s why I draw bones. Fear, come here and show me what you look like.